Blackout
by lovelielove
Summary: "Have you looked outside?" he asked through what sounded like gritted teeth. She turned her head toward the window. Something wasn't right. She stumbled out of bed and walked closer to the glass. She gasped. Two-shot. Random word generated writer's block therapy.
1. Chapter 1

Disclaimer: Not mine, don't sue.

AN: This little two-shot is the result of a severe case of writer's block. I'm working on chapter 6 of Somnium, but I'm not _nearly_ happy enough with it to post it yet. So in order to unblock my brain I decided a little word prompt exercise might help.

Random word prompts: bed distortion gladness grid bastion

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><p>Cassandra Anderson fell face first across her bed with an exhausted huff, arms and legs sprawled wherever. The sleep machine shoved into the corner of her apartment sat unused and scorned.<p>

She'd had one of _those_ shifts. Too late to some scenes, too useless at others. The kind that never seemed to end. The single window looking out onto MegaCity1 allowed the sickly, yellow glow of the city lights to illuminate her small home. Almost immediately her breathing began to even out and she felt herself start to float asleep.

A chirp at her wrist roused her from her stupor. Cassandra rolled onto her back and looked down at her arm. Oh. She hadn't taken her armor off. Ah well. She shut her eyes.

Her wrist comm chirped again. "Uuungh!" She raised the irritating thing to her face and through the distortion of squinted eyes she could just make out that another Judge was trying to contact her. Not making any move to rise, she tapped clumsily at the screen until it beeped a confirmation. "Anderson, here."

"Judge Anderson." The low voice had her snapping her eyes open and sitting up so abruptly her head swam. "You need to answer your damn comm faster than that, Judge."

"I-" *no use apologizing. "Yes, sir."

"Report to Sector House 13, immediately."

"Immediately, sir?" She rubbed her face groggily with her free hand. "But I just got off my shift!" It took half a heartbeat for the whiny words that had just spewed forth from _her_ mouth to come back and slap her awake. Oh shit. "I mean, affirmative, sir. Right away."

There was a pause and she imagined the formidable, infamous, and familiar Judge clenching his jaw. "What's your 10-20?"

"I'm at home."

"Have you looked outside?" he asked through what sounded like gritted teeth.

She turned her head toward the window. Something wasn't right. She stumbled out of bed and walked closer to the glass. She gasped.

"Anderson, do you copy?"

"Dredd... What's happening?" She was ashamed of the quaver in her voice, but she had never seen anything like it. Every light in the city was out. Every fluorescent, incandescent, neon or LED. The only light that did shine was from her wrist.

"My guess is an EMP," he growled. "I'd confirm it with Control, but there's no fucking response." More quietly he muttered, "Get to the Sector House. The entire Justice Department is off the city's main grid so there's a chance their power is on. It's closer than Headquarters and I'm making my way there on foot."

"Where are you?"

"I was on patrol near the 13-14 sector line. Bike's dead."

"God." Those things were meant to withstand a nuke and keep running. "How the hell are the comms still on? Have you reached anyone else? Hershey? Giant?"

"No luck," he confirmed. "Quit asking questions and get going."

"Alright. I'll be there as soon as I can."

There was quiet, then, "Anderson?"

"Yeah, Dredd?" She was already fumbling around in the dark to find her boots.

"Don't do anything stupid." She read between the lines. He meant, 'Be safe.'

"Copy. You, too. I- I should be able to get there within twelve hours on foot. You?"

"Less."

"What's the protocol for this situation? Why can't I remember?" She pulled on her boots and scoured her memory.

He hesitated. "There is no protocol. Power's not built to go out."

She shuddered. What the hell was going on? She searched the darkness for her gun. Then realized, "Lawgivers still work?"

"Yeah. Voice command and display are out, though. Everything's manual.

"Good." Her hand found her gun on her hip. She hadn't even taken that off in her exhaustion. She was regretting not using that damn sleep machine now.

"Twelve hours, Anderson." The _I__'ll be waiting_ went unspoken

"See you then."

"Copy."

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><p>It took longer than twelve hours to trek the fifty kilometers to the sector house. Anderson had quickly changed into clean clothes and donned her field gear again, threw some provisions into a large bag that she slung over her shoulder and across her chest - energy chews, a few hydration packets, and of course extra ammo.<p>

She checked to see if her Lawmaster was truly out of commission, but couldn't even get the headlight to turn on. The chemical glow bars stored on her bike caught her eye. They were used for outlining traffic accidents. The thin chemical filled tubes were about the length of her forearm. She bundled them into her bag then set out.

It was clear in that deepest hour of night that very few citizens had yet to notice the absent hum of electricity or the extraordinary darkness. The streets she travelled were empty of people and cars had been left abandoned, useless, in the middle of the roads. When she travelled between tightly packed buildings or through empty pedways she held a glow bar above her head casting those deeper shadows in a soft red-orange wash.

The further she walked, the more uneasy she felt. She hadn't met a single person yet. Not one citizen asking for information. No gunshots, no shouting, no footsteps, no human activity whatsoever.

When dawn finally drew back the dark, no curious people left the buildings she passed, let alone the mobs she'd been expecting.

Four hours into her journey and a little less than a third of the way to the Sector House 13, Anderson stopped at a crossroads to take a break. The sun was quickly warming the blacktop with its spring strength.

"Anderson to Dredd, do you copy?" she tried her wrist comm.

The grim silence that met her query for interminable minutes afterward left her in a near state of panic, but training kept her cool and collected.

"Dredd, do you copy?"

"Anderson, this is Dredd. I copy."

She nearly collapsed with relief. "Have you seen any people?"

"No. You?"

"No one. I even searched a few residences. What's happening here, Dredd? This isn't just some electromagnetic pulse."

"Hell if I know. We'll figure it out at the sector house. Just keep going. I'm more than halfway there. Where are you?"

"Judging by the streets I'm on... About thirty kilometers to go." She felt a prickle of awareness skitter across skin. No thoughts, just sensation.

"Your'e making good time."

She searched the area again with a sweeping gaze, distractedly muttering into her comm, "Yeah, well. This is my first break since last-"

_CRACK!_ She felt sharp blow before she glimpsed the shadow looming over her.

"Anderson, what the hell was that?" Dredd's voice sounded far away.

"I..." The bright pain in her skull overwhelmed her and her eyes shut involuntarily. She could hear shuffling and felt herself being moved as the world faded from her senses.

The last thing she heard, as if from a great distance, was Dredd's voice. "Anderson! Answer me right now! Do you copy?"

"..."

"CASS!"

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><p>To be continued...<p>

Reviews? Please and thank you :)


	2. Chapter 2

Standard disclaimers apply

AN: Wow! Thank you all for your kind words! I'm sorry to have kept you waiting and I hope you enjoy this (completely weird ass) chapter!

Random word left over: bastion (and still unused... Yes. It's turned into a 3 part story haha)

I think I'll have to do this random word generator thing again. I like it.

Of course after I've finished Somnium :) ... Chapter 6 is almost done! Yay!

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><p>When Anderson woke, she found herself sitting in a room she hadn't seen in nearly fifteen years. The sound of the tap turning on startled her out of her chair causing it to crash sideways onto the kitchen tile. The woman at the sink turned to look over her shoulders, not pausing in her chore.<p>

"What's the matter, baby?" A cup tinkled as it was set in the drying rack.

"Mama?" Anderson's voice had fled and the word came out as a whisper.

"Cassie, don't leave that chair on the floor like that," her mother said in an exasperated tone. "Clean up after yourself and you can have your snack."

As if in a dream, she obeyed and sat back down in the chair at the table. Her mother dried her hands on a towel and puttered with a baking dish cooling on the cooktop. Anderson's eyes didn't leave her achingly familiar form. The woman moved like her mother, sounded just like her, and when she placed the slice of pie before her, Anderson realized she even smelled like her.

Automatically, she lifted the fork as her mom sat in the chair across from her. "Go on, baby." She smiled. "I know you've had a rough day at work. Homemade pie always helps."

Cassandra stared at the pie. It looked wonderful. It even steamed a little. She took a bite. And nearly moaned. The crust was flaky and buttery, the filling was sweet and fruity. It was the best tasting thing she'd had in years.

She took another bite and chewed thoughtfully. "This is very good," she admitted when she'd finished. "But you're not my mother."

The woman smiled even more broadly. "Let me get you some juice." She stood and grabbed glass from the cupboard and pulled that old blue pitcher from the fridge. Cassandra remembered dropping and breaking it when she was six.

"Thank you." Best to be polite to this figment.

"How could you tell?" the figment asked as she sat down again.

"The pie," she said, taking another bite. "It's too delicious. My mom could heat up frozen dinners and order take out, but that's about as far as her cooking skills went."

The woman who wasn't her mother laughed, clearly amused. "There's always something I miss. And you're not concerned?"

"Weirdly... No. But I am curious."

"About?"

"Who you are."

"Hm. You tell me," she replied cryptically.

Cassandra took a sip of the juice, scrutinizing the woman. "No disguise, no face maker. You sound and speak like her, move like her." Inwardly, she was amazed she could remember so much about her mom. "But you can't be her. And I can't be here." She flicked her eyes around her childhood home's tiny kitchen. Her old apartment complex had been razed soon after her parents and neighbors began dying. Too close to the Wall and too much radiation poisoning.

"Very good," the woman continued to smile her mother's smile. "What's your conclusion smarty pants?"

Huh. She'd forgotten that nick name. "Hallucination. Head trauma, maybe." She could just barely recall the blow to the back of her head.

The woman took her empty plate and glass and stood to quickly wash them in the sink. Funny. The figment knew that her mom hated a dirty sink, but didn't know that she couldn't cook. "You're not wrong about the head, baby. I'm sorry about that, by the way. You were never meant to get hurt."

She shrugged and touched the place she'd been hit. No detectable scratch or bump. "I'm fine."

"Well, _here_ you're fine, of course. But you're also not really here, as you just pointed out. Come on," she put her hand out for Cassandra to hold, in the exact way her mother had done a hundred times. "Let's go sit on the couch and we can talk some more."

She took the woman's hand, warm and real, and together they walked through the kitchen door, the one that held her every height milestone from the age of one to seven in pencil in the frame. The living room was almost as tiny as the kitchen, but it was spacious, bare of all but a rug at the center, couch against one wall, and a holovision hung on the other. Cassandra could even find the small black marks on the rug where she'd accidentally set it on fire during a birthday tea party gone wrong. She wondered if she walked through the hallway on the left and entered the first door if she'd find Mr. Hugger, her old stuffed rabbit, singed ears and all, propped up on her childhood bed.

The woman sat down on the gray sofa and patted the cushion next to her. "Sit down, Cassie."

She sat. "What's going on?" None of it could still exist.

"Do you remember what happened just before you came to in the kitchen?" she asked Cassandra gently.

"I was working-" No, that didn't sound right. She shook her head as if to clear it. "I was headed to Sector House 13."

"Why?"

"There was a blackout. Dredd said-"

"Ah, Dredd!" the woman exclaimed fondly. "Now that one's got potential, Cassie."

"Potential?"

"Sure! I bet under that helmet he's a real looker."

"Mama!"

She laughed. "So scandalized! Listen, baby. The whole point of living on this earth is to find your other half and be fruitful, if you get my meaning."

"What? Your're- that's not even-" she was rambling and she knew it. "That is against the law and _you_ are a hallucination! Even if this is some sort of fucked up dream, I'm waking the hell up."

"Language," she chided. "Keep calm, Cassie. Would you like me to explain what's actually happening here?"

That question got her blood boiling, because why the hell didn't the woman just come out with it it in the first place? She merely nodded her head curtly.

"This isn't a hallucination. But you're right. This isn't real."

Cassandra's mind jumped to the next possibility. "Virtual reality?"

"No. An _alternate_ reality. I'm in your mind, Cassie. That's why you can't read me. I'm already here. And this place is as real as your mind perceives it to be."

"... Oh."

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><p>AN: Mwahahaha!<p> 


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